Chapter 19 #2
Apparently, I'm spending the day on the beach with them under the merciless California sun, and then we're dressing nice and going out for an early dinner.
All of this would sound perfectly pleasant if I wasn't nursing a pounding hangover and if I didn't want to bend her best friend over the closest surface and fuck her like a man possessed.
The graphic thought makes me choke violently on my coffee. I cough, reaching desperately for the water Skye left me, the cool liquid soothing my throat.
"You okay?" Harper asks, concern furrowing her brow.
"Fine," I rasp, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "Wrong pipe."
I stare down at the pancakes on my plate—perfectly golden brown, exactly how I like them, with a hint of vanilla in the batter.
Did Skye make these specially? Did she do this thoughtful thing for me after what happened between us?
After what I watched her do? The domesticity of the gesture contrasted with my decidedly undomestic thoughts about her creates a dissonance I can't reconcile.
The idea that she's here cooking breakfast for me after I sat alone in my darkened room watching her pleasure herself makes something twist in my gut—something caught between guilt and arousal that I have absolutely no business feeling toward my daughter's best friend.
"So after you finish breakfast, meet us on the beach," Harper says, getting up and stretching her arms above her head. "Give you time to recover."
"Will do," I reply mechanically, taking another bite of the pancakes, the sweetness almost painful on my tongue.
Harper leaves the kitchen with a bounce in her step.
I close my eyes and exhale slowly, pressing my palms against the cool countertop. This is going to be a very long day. And the thought of Skye going out tonight to some club where men will be all over her—men who aren't me—makes my jaw clench so hard I feel the tension radiate down my neck.
I take another long sip of water, trying to cool the fire building inside me, knowing nothing will extinguish it.
I finish my breakfast, feeling marginally more human with food and caffeine in my system.
The pancakes are perfect—of course they are.
I find myself wondering how many other things Skye excels at that I haven't discovered yet, then immediately shut down that dangerous train of thought before it can fully form, like slamming a door on fingers already reaching through.
Back upstairs, I change into my navy swim trunks, the fabric still stiff from lack of use.
My social life has dwindled to a predictable routine: work, occasional drinks with Ethan and Logan, and spending time with Harper during her visits.
Beach days haven't exactly been high on my priority list for years.
I grab some extra beach towels from the linen closet, their plush fabric soft against my fingers, and head outside.
The California sun greets me with its brightness, not yet reaching the punishing midday intensity that turns the sand too hot to walk on barefoot.
Making my way down the steps to the beach, I see Harper and Skye already in the water.
Their laughter carries across the sand, a melody of youth and freedom that makes something inside me both warm and ache simultaneously.
I spread the towels out methodically, making sure they're perfectly aligned before lowering myself carefully onto the striped fabric.
My head still throbs slightly at the temples, a persistent reminder of last night's overindulgence, but the fresh salt air is already clearing the last cobwebs.
I watch them splash and play in the waves, trying desperately not to notice how the water makes Skye's skin glisten in the sunlight, how her movements have a natural, unconscious grace even when she's just playing around.
I'm supposed to be a responsible adult, her best friend's father, not...
whatever this uncontrollable thing is that keeps pulling my eyes back to her.
My thoughts scatter when they sprint out of the water, sending droplets flying in their wake, heading straight toward me with purpose.
Harper's familiar determined expression—so like my own—makes me brace myself for whatever she's planning.
I try—and fail miserably—not to let my eyes linger on Skye in that little black bikini that clings to every curve, water droplets sliding down her skin like they're mapping territory I have no business wanting to explore.
"Uh uh, you're not being lazy today," Harper announces, standing over me with hands on her hips, dripping ocean water onto my legs, her shadow offering momentary relief from the sun.
"What? I was just enjoying the sun," I protest weakly, knowing it's futile to argue when she gets this way.
She laughs, making me realize how much I missed that sound. "Nope, you're coming in the water."
"I have a better idea," I say, inspiration striking suddenly, desperate for any alternative that doesn't involve me half-naked in close proximity to Skye in that bikini.
She looks at me in disbelief, one eyebrow raising in challenge. "What?"
"I do," I insist, sitting up straighter.
"Let's hear it," she challenges, crossing her arms over her chest.
"How about we take the jet skis and show Skye the caves?" I suggest, remembering how Harper always loved exploring them when she was younger, how her eyes would light up at the adventure of it all.
Harper's face transforms with a brilliant smile. When I glance at Skye, I notice her expression has changed too—genuine intrigue replacing her earlier guardedness, a spark of curiosity in those green-gold eyes that I find impossible to look away from.
"What caves?" Skye asks just as Harper exclaims, "Yes, let's go!" grabbing her friend's hand and pulling her toward the dock with infectious enthusiasm.
I follow them at a measured pace, deliberately taking my time to give them space. As I approach the weathered wooden dock, I catch the tail end of what seems like a private conversation, their heads bent close together.
"You mind?" Harper asks, her voice carrying slightly over the sound of water lapping against the pilings.
"No, that's fine," Skye responds, tucking a strand of wet hair behind her ear.
"You sure?" Harper whispers, her expression serious for a moment.
"I'm sure," Skye whispers back, with a small nod that sends another droplet cascading down her collarbone.
They both turn to me simultaneously, faces transforming into expressions of exaggerated innocence. "We're ready," they announce in perfect unison, like they aren't keeping secrets right in front of me.
"Uh-huh," I say skeptically, moving toward the jet skis moored at the dock, their glossy surfaces reflecting the morning sun.
"Dad," Harper calls as she approaches the smaller one that's always been her favorite.
"Yeah?" I ask, settling down on mine, the familiar seat conforming to my body.
"Can Skye drive yours?" she asks, her tone casual but her eyes watchful.
I pause, momentarily confused. "Am I staying here, or...?"
"No," Harper clarifies quickly. "Can you teach her to drive it?"